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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308858">bones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemis/pseuds/anathemis'>anathemis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drabble, Eating Disorders, Gen, Graphic Description, Insanity, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Self-Harm, Taboo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:21:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>709</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308858</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemis/pseuds/anathemis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"'If I starve myself, I'll reach the bone quicker.'</p>
<p>Unfaulty logic, wholly sound and completely sane."</p>
<p>(please read the tags and heed them carefully. graphic descriptions of self harm and mutilation. trigger warning.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>self-indulgent drabble wrote at 3am. please beware the tags and do not read if self harm/starvation triggers you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'If I starve myself, I'll reach the bone quicker.'</p>
<p>Unfaulty logic, wholly sound and completely sane.</p>
<p>The edge of the blade glinted in the reflection of the light, stained a deep brown, crusted and dirty.</p>
<p>Dirty. That's right. I am dirty. Blood on my hands, on my arms, on my thighs and in my head.</p>
<p>
  <i>So many dead.</i>
</p>
<p>The blade touches pale, thin skin, unmarred and altogether <i>unpretty</i>. Skin split open under the pressure, white filling with red, a cackle escaping a dry throat.</p>
<p>The red dripped down skin, eventually soaked up by paperthin tissue. It spread, bright and quick, spider-like. <i>Pretty</i> at last.</p>
<p>Blade dipped into slits, cutting again and again, white turning to yellow but red remaining ever so <i>red</i>.</p>
<p>Harry Potter was going <i>insane</i>.</p>
<p>Fat spilled from the numerous cuts on his limbs, but it wasn't enough. More, his mind whispered. <i>More</i>.</p>
<p>Would it ever end? He was losing his mind. Gaping wounds on every surface, unstitched and aching and oh so <i>pretty</i>.</p>
<p>Again and again, blood leaking and burning hot and spurting, pulsating, exiting his dirty body. Again and again, until he couldn't take it anymore. No room left, too much pain and a satiated mind. For now. <i>For now</i>.</p>
<p>Not enough to kill, just enough to dull the guilt and the pain and the screaming and- he sighed. Tucked the blade away, pressed white tissue to even whiter skin, red turning brown and sticky. No bandages - he didn't deserve those. An infection was a blessing. Maybe he wouldn't have to kill himself if he got an infection.</p>
<p>He cleaned up, as he always did, taking care to not leave any evidence and banished the rubbish. Then, he blinked.</p>
<p>The curtains around his bed were still closed and one peek outside showed his friends to still be asleep.</p>
<p>Facade maintained, he fell asleep, heart heavy and mind even heavier, body merely skeletal and <i>disgusting</i>.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-x-</p>
</div><p>When he awoke, he pulled stuck fabric from fat cells in his wounds, grinning at the blood that resurfaced. He wiped it, yawning.</p>
<p>He dressed on autopilot, being the last in the room, and left.</p>
<p>He contemplated the world as he walked, feeling oh so superior. Better. Insane. He could hear people talking, muttering, being <i>normal</i>. He felt sick. His arms burned under his robes, thighs faring no better. No one understood.</p>
<p>Headache forming behind his eyes, he swallowed, a laugh forming at the back of his throat.</p>
<p>Too soon, <i>too soon</i>, he was at the Great Hall. He found his friends quickly and sat down next to them, careful not to touch them, taint them with his dirtyness.</p>
<p>"Harry," he heard. Harry. That was his name. Was that his name?</p>
<p>"Yes," he muttered, "yes it is."</p>
<p>Unseen glances between worried friends.</p>
<p>"What is, Harry?"</p>
<p>"My name," he said, before laughing. He picked up a fork eyes glancing around the bustling room, deafened. No, they simply wouldn't understand his thoughts. They were too much for them. They wouldn't understand his need for it, for hardened bone. They wouldn't understand his faults, his dirty bloody hands. He was a murderer. <i>sirius cedric sirius cedric sirius cedric sirius cedric sirius cedric</i>-</p>
<p>"Harry, are you going to eat anything?" There was that voice again.</p>
<p>"No thanks," he replied, turning to his thoughts again. His arms still hurt. He pressed a finger into a wound, breath quickening at the pain. That's exactly what he needed. Blood seeped through his robes, touched his finger, warm and wet.</p>
<p>"Harry, we're worried about you. Are you okay?"</p>
<p>He blinked and turned to see Hermione and Ron, staring, scared.</p>
<p>"I am fine," he says, with a smile, before standing and walking out of the room.</p>
<p>"Where are you going? Harry! You haven't eaten anything. We have class soon!"</p>
<p>As soon as he left the room, as if on cue, he lost his mind once again.</p>
<p>Headache intensified. He pressed bony fingers into his temples, ran a hand through his ragged and thinning hair, wrapped fingers around his thinning wrist. Perfect.</p>
<p>He swallowed, hand pressing gently on his empty and concave stomach. Perfect. Blood dripped down his arms and plinked onto dusty stone floor. Fat clung to fabric once more. <i>Perfect</i>.</p>
<p>'If I starve myself, I'll reach bone quicker.'</p>
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